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Shame

For better or worse I was raised to feel shame at the drop of a hat; if I ever fell short of my parents' standards I was so encouraged, and I continue to do so as an adult.

The things that cause me shame are different as my life has changed. My standards, my self-expectations, are mediated by my growths and declines in various areas.

I'm not sure if I would want to be different. If I were different, I wouldn't be me on a fundamental level.

One of the constants in my life is that I am obsessively punctual. I do not like to have my time wasted, so if I commit to being somewhere for someone then I project that they will feel the same. Consequently I am perceived by others by and large as being responsible (which has a different emotional baggage than shame).

I bring this up because I am teaching a first-year course that is required as part of our core curriculum where a number of students are not showing up.  I missed a couple of classes in university for illness and we do live in the age of COVID, so I try to make allowances. Still, a number of healthy students enrolled in my class and are not attending. (And failing but that is another issue.)

My word is my bond and it always has been. It takes me aback to see folk for whom their word matters only when it is something enjoyable. I prefer to respect my students.

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